


Two Halves of One Whole Dumbass

by noahcomemidnight



Series: You're My Endgame [1]
Category: Daredevil (TV), Hawkeye (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Avocados at Law, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bisexual Matt Murdock, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Complicated Relationships, Crime Fighting, Daredevil - Freeform, Deaf Clint Barton, Eventual Romance, Friends to Lovers, HawkDevil, Hawkeye - Freeform, Human Disaster Matt Murdock, Internal Conflict, M/M, MY SONS, Post-Battle of Sokovia, Pre-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sokovia Accords, Vigilantism, cunt birdman, dumpster bros, map murdork, soft babbies, they're so dumb
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-24
Packaged: 2019-08-04 00:25:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 9,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16336244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noahcomemidnight/pseuds/noahcomemidnight
Summary: Wherein Matt and Clint are the literal epitome of Dumb Bitch Syndrome™





	1. Dumpster Devil

**Author's Note:**

> all of the fics made for this ship are either less than a thousand words or written in French. or both. here's a fic that's longer than the others.
> 
> if you'd like, you can also follow me on tumblr!  
> @ noahcomemidnight for aesthetics, shitposts, + animals  
> or  
> @ marvelnmemes for marvel. + memes

Matthew Murdock-- lawyer by day, and vigilante by night. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen. Daredevil. Currently beaten to a bloody pulp in a back alley dumpster near fifth avenue and forty-third street, just shy of being in his ‘jurisdiction’.

The dumpster smelled something foul, but despite this, Matt lay in pain. He’d hunted down the remaining loose ends of the Hand, who went the whole nine yards to make sure that they weren’t being followed, leading Matt to a collection of cuts and bruises, as well as a potentially fractured rib. From there, the men had dragged him off the edge of the roof and pushed him into the dumpster in the alley below about a half hour ago.

Matt was grateful that he didn’t have any cases or appointments for tomorrow-- while he liked doing pro-bono work after the split of Nelson and Murdock, he was glad he was working for himself and no longer had to make up excuses for his mutilated and disheveled appearance. It also allotted more time for his night time ‘hobby’, one of which, as of late, was rather slow. Typically not much more than a robbery or violent disputes… until he decided to take on the remnants of a deadly cult.

Matt sat up with great difficulty, a pained noise slipping from his lips. He took a few breaths, attempting not to further injure himself or irritate his already numerous marks of beatings. A quick and silent prayer was sent up to the heavens, that was somewhere along the lines of ‘Lord, give me strength in my weakness, and please show me the love that I need’.

As if things could get worse, something heavy fell on top of him.


	2. Dumpster Bird

Okay, this was bad. Scratch that, it was  _ really _ bad, but it could have been worse. 

Clint Barton hadn’t been involved with the Avengers since after the whole airport brawl and solitary confinement thereafter. This should have been great, considering how desperately he’d wanted some downtime, but a few days into retirement, he was going stir-crazy. He returned New York City, renting out the shabby space that had been his apartment before the whole Avengers gig. Many of the residents were the same as they had been-- the guys upstairs that could be heard banging each other at all hours of the night, the single mother and her twin daughter and son across the hall, and the guy right next door to Clint, whose name was Jared, but no one ever saw him, and he became the local cryptid.

Even after moving back to his apartment, Clint wasn’t satisfied. So he did what he knew best-- perching on the roof and gathering intel-- leading to his status drop from Avenger back to vigilante.

On this night in particular, some Russian mobsters were finishing out their majour drug cartel deal, just as Clint dropped in. He was chasing a lead from rooftop to rooftop, taking damage as some of the mob’s hitmen tailed him. Clint managed to tag his guy with a tracker, before ending the chase and facing off with the two hitmen. Using his bow as more of a staff, he was able to fend the two off, but it didn’t take long for them to overpower him. He had the shit beat out of him, damaging his hearing aides in the process, before being finished off by one of the hitman grabbing him by the throat and dangling him over the edge of the roof, dropping him into the dark alley dumpster below.

Clint hit his head on one of the sides of the dumpster, causing his head to bleed and his ears to ring. He was definitely concussed, and had probably fractured something or bruised something else on his way down. He’d have to fix that later, and for the time being tried to minimize the spinning of the world. The focusing on his concussion disappeared from his mind completely when he felt something move below him. A small and confused noise escaped his lips, and he struggled to move off of whatever poor dog he might’ve crushed. Turns out, it wasn’t even a dog, but another human being.

The guy was dressed in a maroon suit with a mask that covered his face completely, save his mouth. The helmet had little horns, like the devil, but as Clint looked at the stubble-dusted jaw and soft lips, he knew this guy was no devil.

_ “Really? Out of all…” _

Clint stopped paying attention to the words falling from the guy’s lips, resorting to slowly and painfully pulling himself out of the dumpster. 

 

Neither were any the wiser as to who they encountered, and the world spun on.

 


	3. Civil War Suit

Matthew Murdock was bone-achingly tired.

For several hours, he spoke via video conference with Tony Stark and Pepper Potts. It was excruciatingly painful, what with being berated for using ‘outdated’ technology, as well as having several tangents and side arguments that led to no actual work being accomplished. He had massaged his temples in an attempt to subdue the raging headache that was growing by the minute. Stark was lucky he paid well, otherwise Matt would’ve never taken the case. He stood up from his desk and stretched, finding his walking stick, taking a walk to clear his mind.

It had been over a week since the encounter with the guy in the dumpster. Matt could only wonder who he was-- his heartbeat was steady, if a little bit fast, and had no particular stutters or reverberations that could classify him as unique. The guy never even spoke, but he was heavy, and slightly stocky. Indicating that he was trained in some sort of physically demanding field of work…

But Matt couldn’t think about his encounter. He had to work on defense points in favour of Tony Stark and the Avengers on his behalf, showing the fact that they didn’t have to contractually follow the Sokovian Accords because of the lack of two-thirds of the Avengers’ signatures. Matt could already hear the headlines:  _ Stark v U.S.A _ or better yet,  _ Avengers v World- Their Biggest Battle Yet _ ! 

Matt didn’t exactly know where to start, but began compiling a list of those who did and did not sign the Accords. Those who had signed included Stark, newly-crowned King T’Challa, Colonel James Rhodes, Natasha Romanoff, and a few others. Those who hadn’t signed included Steve Rogers, James Barnes, Clint Barton, Scott Lang, and others. Matt wondered if this court case was Stark trying to extend a metaphorical olive branch to the other Avengers, before wondering whose side he would have taken if he’d been taken up on the offer to fight. He most likely would’ve been on Rogers’s side, because the government with their fingers in everything and ties with the Hand wasn’t advisable. Besides, what if someone made a call that Matt didn’t want to follow?

A sudden heavy force that collided with Matt’s legs pulled him out of his thoughts, regaining balance as he furrowed his brows. He listened to the heavy panting, realising it was a dog that was at his feet, jumping up on him excitedly and letting out excited barks. Matt slowly reached out, petting the dog’s head, holding his ground as the dog continued to use his body as a support mechanism to stand on its hind legs.

“Aw Lucky, no!” A guy groaned, and came running over, removing the dog from Matt’s suit-clad being.

“Sorry he just kinda ran… I… uh… here’s forty for dry cleaning.” The guy pressed two bills into his palm, before running off after his dog.

Matt just blinked, shaking his head.

So much for a peaceful, introspective walk.

  
  



	4. Civil War Court

Matt Murdock sat down, having finished defending his clients. Tony Stark made a few snarky interjections, but nothing too drastic that would alter the judge’s view to their opposition. The recess had just been announced, with the verdict to come in fifteen minutes. Matt followed Stark and a few of the other Avengers into the lobby, where reporters were being held back as they streaming the video to national television stations while cameras flashed. 

“Mister Murdock, a word?” A reporter yelled above the clamour, and Matt just held up a hand to indicate his and his constituents’ silence for the time being.

“Barton.” Came the curt greeting from Stark, and Matt tilted his head, listening to the approaching person’s footsteps.

“Stark.” The guy responded, his voice tight and civil. The guy turned toward Matt, his voice becoming a bit softer. “Hey, man. Sorry about the dog again.”

“It’s fine. No harm done.”

Matt managed a small smile, ducking his head slightly and listening in to his other surroundings. Tony Stark was chatting with Colonel Rhodes about the future of the Avengers, Clint Barton was muttering to someone about lunch, reporters were babbling about the potentials of the outcome of the case, and among it all, the sound of a gun cocking…

“Put the gun down.” Came the loud voice of Clint Barton, and the reporters began clamouring. Matt could hear the law enforcement officers step in, and was rather thankful that he didn’t have to reveal himself and his heightened abilities.

 

Ten minutes later, they won the case. There was much celebration, but also sparks of unease as controversy swirled. Matt couldn’t think about that now, though. He was more focused on the potential effects that the ruling would have on Nelson and Murdock. It would bring in more cases than they’d be able to handle, but they’d finally be able to pay the bills. They’d actually make a profit.

“Tony’s taking us all to lunch at a local Shwarma place we all like. Wanna join?”

Matt blinked, not expecting Barton to want to speak to him now that the case was won. It struck him as odd, but he did consider the offer.

“No, thanks. I… should probably head back to the office. Phones are probably driving everyone crazy.”

“You sure? Stark’s paying…” Clint sounded almost hopeful, but his steady heartbeat didn’t indicate anything to him at all.

“Thanks though. Enjoy yourself, Mister Barton.”

  
  
  



	5. A Very Late Lightbulb

It took Clint Barton a painfully long time to realise that Matthew Murdock and the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen were the same person.

It had been three months since the Sokovian Accords court case debacle, and almost four months since Clint had landed on top of the guy with the gorgeous mouth. Clint had found that the guy was called ‘Daredevil’ in the newspapers, and he began keeping personal tabs on the guy, before S.H.I.E.L.D even asked him to. He’d watched the Devil’s antics, but mostly stayed out of the way.

And then, he met Matt Murdock.

Between the two events where Clint had actually spoken to Murdock (ie. Lucky jumping on him and the whole court case), he’d been fond of the guy. Clint wasn’t the kind to jump into relationships or openly lust over people, but he had to admit, Murdock was appealing to the eye. He’d had other short encounters with the lawyer, including a few times when he visited the Avengers Compound and a few times on the street. They hadn’t spoken to one another, but that was of no matter, because Clint could still assess from a distance. Murdock was a nice guy, humble, too, and had strong Catholic roots that would make an appearance when the Avengers dabbled in conversations he wasn’t particularly fond of. He had an easygoing, yet simultaneously formal air about him, with a soft smile and a gentle laugh.

Clint only really realised when Matt came over one afternoon to discuss the pros and cons of final settlements and compromises to the last leg of the Sokovian Accords case from a month ago.

Matt Murdock was standing on the outer rim of the gathering area, across the room from where Clint was lurking near the kitchen area. Murdock’s hands gently touched the raised papers he held in his hands, reading them off as he went. His knuckles were red and slightly split, but on the mend. This made Clint wonder about his clumsiness, because he’d heard a few stories from Stark about how “Murdock apparently ran into the fridge” or “tripped and hit his head on the table when he tried to stand back up”. Odd, but whatever.

“--the better the public outlook--” Murdock spoke, but Clint zoned out again, watching his lips move. 

His lips were the colour of a soft pink rose, and they moved at a steady cadence. He paused, biting his lips slightly as he listened to whoever was saying something to him. He raised his brows, taking off his dark-lensed glasses to scrub his face. Clint got a glimpse of his eyes for the first time-- a soft mocha colour that were blank, yet wise-- and then, they disappeared again behind those dark glasses.

“Right now, you’ve landed on top-- you have the upper hand, but it’s ultimately your call.”

Clint blinked.

_ “Really? Out of all the dumpsters in New York, and you landed on top of me.” _ That’s what the Devil had said to him in the dumpster months ago, and it looked exactly like the way Murdock said it.

Clint really did see better from afar.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few more chapters written but I'm going to wait to post them because otherwise things will get chaotic. Hope you're enjoying thus far.  
> xoxo


	6. Dumpster Déjà Vu + Second Base

Matt Murdock groaned, spitting blood from his mouth. He was definitely sure he’d broken something, but he wasn’t exactly sure what yet, because everything hurt. To add to it, he was in a dumpster that smelled of something rotten, and if he were to guess, it was probably a restaurant’s. As if matters couldn’t get any worse, he felt the sudden heavy impact of someone falling on top of him.

Matt scowled, attempting to push the person off of him. He listened to their steady and painfully normal heartbeat. A feeling of  déjà vu washed over him as he realised that this was the same person who’d fallen on top of him almost six months ago.

“Really? Again?” He spoke, before muttering moreto himself than the other person, “I cannot believe this right now…”

“What was that? My aids got knocked out and I can’t read your lips when you mumble.”

Matt stiffened. Clint Barton? And to add to it: he was deaf?

“Nothing.” Matt shook his head, and Clint moved, before his heartbeat picked up slightly.

“Do… Do you need help? You’re bleeding kinda bad…”

“ ‘M fine.”

“Uhuh…” Barton was clearly unconvinced, and Matt could almost  _ see _ the disproving look that was being shot in his direction. Before he could say anything more, he was pulled to a stand and helped out of the dumpster, Barton making himself a crutch for him.

“My apartment’s not far. I can patch you up there.”

Matt didn’t respond. He didn’t feel the need to. Every step sent fresh pain shooting throughout his entire body, and he bit back grunts, not wanting to alert Barton of the true extent of his state.

If Matt Murdock could see, he probably would have watched the streetlamps cast a dim glow on Clint’s face. He would have seen the  way that Clint would glance sideways every few steps, making sure that Matt was alright. Most of all, he would have seen the fondness and genuine care in Clint’s eyes.

But Matt Murdock couldn’t see.

What he could hear was the steady thrumming of Clint’s heart pumping blood throughout his body. He could hear the footsteps echoing as they took the back staircase up to Clint’s apartment. He could hear the keys jingling and the lock turning, and the sounds of a dog excitedly sniffing him. He could hear the squeaking of the worn couch springs as he was sat down. Most of all, he could hear Clint’s heartbeat pick up when Matt touched his chest, trying to steady himself on the couch.

“You banged yourself up pretty bad, Murdock.” Barton commented idly, opening the first aid kit he’d grabbed.

Matt felt his heart skip a few beats, and a slight bit of panic clutch his chest. Clint knows. Matt swallowed hard, his throat suddenly very dry.

“H-How-?”

“I’m an agent. I know how to read people… even if it did take me four months.” Barton muttered the last part under his breath, before sighing and pulling out some medical gauze. “Strip.”

Matt sighed as he peeled his suit off, wincing as he hit gashes or bruises. It took a few minutes, but it eventually happened. And now he was sitting almost completely naked in front of a former client. 

Clint didn’t even go in with a warning, before pouring hydrogen peroxide on the cuts on Matt’s shoulders and chest. A hand flew out and gripped Barton’s forearm, squeezing hard.

“Jesus, Murdock. You’ve got a grip.” Clint sounded only mildly surprised, before managing to pull Matt’s death grip off of his arm.

It took at least an hour, if not longer, to get Matt completely cleaned and patched up. Only six stitches were needed, and a temporary brace for his fractured wrist was loaned out. Lucky had curled up next to Matt and had long since fallen asleep to his soothing pets, and Matt felt the desire to doze off as well.

“Here, three ibuprofen for the pain. Blanket and pillow for the night.” Clint handed him a glass of water and the pills, placing down the bedtime accessories, and turning to head presumably to his own room. Matt listened as he went, suddenly aware of his uneven steps.

“It’s my turn to help you.” Matt nodded at Clint, suggesting his leg injury, and the other man let out a sigh, before returning to the couch.

Matt picked up the first aid kit from the floor and placed it op his lap, gently feeling around for the gauze and hydrogen peroxide. He cleaned and bandaged Clint’s leg, before waiting expectantly until Clint removed his shirt and let it fall to the floor with a soft rustle. Matt felt Clint take his hand and guide him to where patchwork needed to be done, being as gentle as possible. Clint was a lot more toned than he thought, and for reason, he felt his cheeks burn at the thought. He wasn’t sure why, maybe because he felt vaguely threatened by an Avenger? Matt pushed these thoughts away, helping finish clean the cuts on his chest. 

Barton had to stitch himself up, but that was okay. He took Matt’s hand and raised it slightly upward, before letting him go. Matt’s fingers touched Clint’s chin, before moving to his cheeks. His hands continued to Clint’s forehead, where he sucked in a sharp breath in pain. Matt carefully cleaned the gash, moving up for a moment to touch his soft hair. His hands delicately moved down to his nose, where he cleaned and placed a bandaid, before moving down to touch his lips. They weren’t the softest, and the bottom part of his lip was split. If Matt could hear over the roaring of the blood in his ears, he could have heard that Clint’s heart was thundering in his chest just as hard. But Matt couldn’t hear above the loud and heavy heartbeat in his chest, so he was none the wiser.

Matt recoiled suddenly, realizing that his fingers had been on Clint’s lips for a little too long.

“Thanks for the Hello Kitty bandaid.” Clint sounded like he was smiling, and then his footsteps receded into his presumed room.

Matt set up his makeshift bed before laying down painfully, his brain and being thoroughly discombobulated. He couldn’t exactly understand why his brain had gone into overdrive. He’d met Barton before-- he was a nice guy. During his visits to the Avengers Compound, he’d even caught some of Clint’s snarky humor. He’d been kind enough to let Matt into his home and had even patched him up. Clint knew who he was-- both his night life and day job, and hadn’t commented on it, almost as if he knew the difficulty it brought to Matt’s life.

And he made Matt’s heart race and an invisible block form in his throat.

Great.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> because I was extremely busy today, I was only able to watch three episodes of daredevil season three, not the entire season like I wanted to. bummed, but so far it's super good. excited to see where the season goes.


	7. Correlation Does NOT Equal Causation

Matt Murdock woke to the sound of fizzling, and it took him a moment of panic to recollect where he was. The fizzling faded to the sound of coffee brewing, and the soft flipping of paper accompanied the sound. He lay for a minute, listening to Clint puttering around. He pet Lucky and gave the dog food. He flipped the pages of some sort of newspaper or file. He dug in the fridge, clinking beer bottles greeting Matt’s ears.

Matt sat up with great difficulty, wincing at the wounds that had been inflicted upon him, just as he felt a furry face plop on his lap, almost demanding for pettings. Lucky seemed very content with being pet, panting happily as his wagging tail hit the floor with increasing frequency.

“You drink coffee?”

Matt nodded, and a mug was placed in his hands. He stood with great difficulty, shuffling over to the small bar dividing the kitchen from the living room, setting his mug down. Clint placed cream and sugar next to him, to which he fixed his coffee. Clint stood on the other side of the bar, placing whatever paper he’d been reading on the counter just below the bar, and picking up the coffee pot. Matt listened as he took a sip, and furrowed his brows.

“Are… you drinking straight out of the coffee pot?”

“...No…?” Clint responded, and Matt felt a small laugh fall from his lips, because of all people, he wasn’t quite expecting an Avenger to drink from the coffee pot.

Matt curled his hands around the mug he was given, feeling some slightly raised design on it.

“What does this mug say?”

Clint let out a choking noise, before clearing his throat.

“It was a gag gift from Tony…”

“What does it say?”

“ ‘Daddy’.”

It was Matt’s turn to choke on his coffee, his eyebrows raised. Clint let out a small snort, before continuing to drink his coffee. They sat in comfortable silence until Matt’s mug was empty and Clint had drained his coffee pot.

“Do y’wanna go out to eat? All I have here is beer and dog food…”

“Sure, unless you’d rather have dog food.”

“I swear to God… it was one time, and it was a dog treat.” Clint muttered, before heading off to his room. Matt couldn’t help but let out a confused laugh, just as Clint came back. “I figured, ‘if Lucky will eat ‘em, how bad can they be?’. I’ll never hear the end of it.”

Clint handed Matt a bundle of soft fabric, before leaving the room again. Upon unrolling the fabric, he found a pair of sweatpants, a tee shirt, and a light jacket. He pulled them on. They smelled of some generic laundry detergent, coffee, and the faint smell of dog. It made Matt’s head spin. It was so painfully normal, and to add to it, Matt smelled like Clint now.

Soon thereafter, Clint led him out the door, and being absent of his walking stick, linked arms with Matt as they travelled down the crowded sidewalk. It made Matt’s heart race, especially when they arrived at their destination and Clint helped Matt into the booth, touching his shoulders and sides as he guided the blind man. Clint sat across from Matt on the other side of the booth, picking up his menu.

“What are you in the mood for? Eggs? Pancakes?”

Matt frowned at the slight menu under his hands, understanding Clint’s reason for asking.

“Eggs and bacon.”

“Okay, how many eggs?”

“Three.”

“That’s it? No biscuits or other carbs?”

“No.” Matt felt his lips quirk up, and he heard Clint’s heart rate pick up just as the waitress approached. Clint rattled off their orders, before falling quiet as the woman left, causing Matt to raise a brow.

“She pretty?”

“Eh, average run of the mill, but I’m not one to judge. Why? Trying to find a lady for your lifestyle?”

“I… figured since your heart started beating faster…”

“Oh?” Clint seemed only mildly surprised, taking a sip of the coffee he’d ordered. Matt figured he’d had at  _ least _ three cups already, not including the one he was drinking on now. 

“I thought maybe you were looking for a romantic endeavor.”

Clint let out a scoff, and Matt smiled. Clint’s heart skipped a beat and sped up.

“The only lady in my life is my sister Laura, and she and her kids are a handful enough as it is.”

The waitress delivered their food, and for a while, they ate in comfortable silence, the scraping of forks and the plasticy sound of their plates sliding breaking any tension that may have been present. Matt listened as Clint shuffled on his side of the booth, and heard the shifting of the fabric of his sleeves… Matt jabbed the oncoming hand with his fork, leaving Clint to gasp slightly.

“Hey!” Clint managed to lash out and snatch a piece of bacon anyway.

“You have your own food.”

“But I didn’t have bacon!”

Matt let out a soft laugh, shaking his head at the childishness of the man sitting across from him. He heard Clint’s heart skip a few beats. Matt furrowed his brows, before snatching a biscuit off of Clint’s plate. He could almost see Clint squinting at him in playful anger, and Matt gave him a smile. The archer’s heart sped up.

And then Matt realised that Clint happened to be reacting at the same time as Matt would smile.

There was only one way to be sure.

“I… Thanks for patching me up.”

A small smile, a heartbeat speeding up.

Matt felt the smile slip from his face as he felt his own heart race. There was no way that Clint… No. Clint just happened to… Correlation doesn’t equal causation.

Thankfully, before Matt could freak out and overthink the situation more, his phone rang, saying Foggy’s name.

“Hey Foggy.”

“Matt, where-- it’s loud on your end. Where are you? The office is past capacity.”

“On my way.”

Matt hung up, and listened to a pen scratching on paper. Clint was paying for their meal.

“You didn’t have to--”

“I fell on top of you. Twice. It’s the least I can do.”

“Thank you… I’ve got to go. The office is filled with people.”

“Understandable. After the Sokovia case three months ago, I’d be surprised if you weren’t the most requested lawyer in town.” Clint sounded like he was smiling, and Matt smiled back. The archer’s heart faltered slightly. Matt slid out of the booth, taking his queue to leave the diner.

Clint was left alone, realising how badly Matt Murdock had affected his life. How the guy just kind of nestled his way in comfortably. How good he was with Lucky and how kind he was to Clint. The archer just sighed and leaned his head down so he could bang it against the table a few times. This was not going to end well.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeehaw I'm babysitting my cousins as I'm posting this. I am educating them on the true resonating impact of the High School Musical series.


	8. Personal Ties

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay so I should probably clarify: this takes place leading up to Avengers Infinity War, during season two of Daredevil right before Matt + Foggy decide to stop Nelson + Murdock. I'll indicate any changes in the text of time periods moving forward.

It was a few months until Matt Murdock ran into Clint Barton again. The chilly December air ripped through the heaviest of coats without so much as a care for the inhabitants of New York. Pigeons were a rare sight, which was almost blasphemous, considering the sky rats were present almost every single other day of the goddamn year. Stop-and-go traffic was a blessing-- the exhaust from the mufflers provided some semblance of warmth.

Matt Murdock was bundled in several layers on clothing, his body warmer than his frozen face and the numb tip of his nose. The frigid, blustering wind kissed his cheeks, and he exhaled heavily, his breath immediately becoming visible. He stomped the slush off his boots and entered Josie’s Bar, a frequented hole-in-the wall with a running tab for Nelson and Murdock. Matt sat at the bar, tilting his head when he heard a laugh ring clear through his ears, the kind that was so genuine that you couldn’t help but smile at.

“Phil, come on, loosen up. You’ve been hidden away for so long, you probably haven’t even had a decent drink.”

Clint Barton.

“Really, Barton? Just because I’m back in your life doesn’t mean you can wine and dine me.”

“I wasn’t here for that, sir.” Barton responded cheekily. “I was here under the impression that you had a mission for me.”

There was the sound of paper fluttering, and the slide of something hard against the well-worn wood table. Barton made a noise that Matt couldn’t decipher, before there was more paper sliding. Something jangled as it was put on and then slid across the wood. The item was picked up, and most likely inspected.

“I’m not sure this is the best from my position. I have personal ties to this case.”

“I’m just asking for a report on what you think the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen is up to. We’re trying to keep an index of who all is potentially on our side.”

“He’s on our side. That’s all you need to know.” A chair scraped against the wood floor, and Barton stood.

“I know that look, Barton.”

“Go to hell, sir.” 

“Sit. I have other assignments.”

There was a moment of hesitation, before the chair scooted back in, and muttering back and forth began. Matt hadn’t even ordered the drink he’d come for, before ducking out of the bar and standing outside for a moment. It was bitter, and a chill ran up his spine. Clint had defended him. As easily as he could have given up Matt for one of his missions, he didn’t. Why?

He must have been standing outside for longer than he thought, for the next thing he knew, a hand was placed on his shoulder.

“Bit chilly out today. You sure you wanna stay out here and freeze?”

Matt’s heart leapt at the easygoing sound of Clint’s voice. Suddenly, his cheeks felt warm.

“Business venture?” Matt nodded toward the bar, and the other man said nothing.

“I-I was nodding.” Clint supplied, and groaned at himself.

“Hmmm.” Matt conceded, before furrowing his brows.

“I… uh… I gotta go. Away. For a mission. But I’ll… see you around?”

“Alright.”

And Clint was gone.

Matt let out a sharp exhale-- a breath he didn’t even know he’d been holding. His heart was racing. His face was warm. And all Matt Murdock could do was curse himself and the stupidly kind guy who’d just left. Clint was his friend. Nothing more, nothing less.

Right?

 


	9. Beaten + Bruised

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah yeah I know that last chapter was a filler... you're now about 2/3 of the way through the story. here's this chapter.
> 
> also: I'm trying to keep Matt + Clint as in-character as possible.

Okay, this was a bad idea. But it was the only one Clint Barton had.

He took a deep breath before knocking on the door. There were soft footsteps, before the door swung open. Matt Murdock stood in the doorway, rubbing his eyes tiredly, wearing only a pair of sweatpants. Shallow lacerations decorated his chest-- none too bad to require stitches, but still bad enough that Clint knew Matt was in pain.

“Clint? What’re you doing here?”

His heart raced. Matt had never called him by his first name. It was soft and sweet, yet also sleep-laden, just like the man before him. Before Clint could even manage the words that were failing to come to his brain, Matt’s brows furrowed as he cocked his head.

“You’re hurt. Come in.”

‘Hurt’ was an understatement. Clint was certain that he’d broken at least two ribs, not to mention the nasty plum-coloured bruises that littered his face, neck, and torso. On top of it all, there were several cuts, and a shallow stab wound to the thigh that was bleeding heavily.

So ‘hurt’ was an understatement.

Matt led him down the short hall into his dark warehouse-like apartment. A bright neon sign flickered right outside the large windows, casting shadows across the already dim room. Clint sat on the couch, and Matt pulled up a chair, a handful of medical supplies with him. Fabric was carefully pulled over his head as Matt helped him undress, being careful of his wounds and bruises. Matt made no move to help him with his pants, and the line was drawn, thankfully, otherwise, Clint would have undergone cardiac arrest.

“You’re gone for six months, and decide to show up on my doorstep half alive?”

Had it really been six months? 

“Yeah… sorry. I just… needed someone who gets it.”

“You probably need a hospital.”

“You’re supposed to be understanding.”

“I’m not going to coddle you.”

Matt began addressing the leg wounds first, cleaning and stitching where necessary. Clint just watched as he took his time, gently feeling his skin and being almost overly delicate. Matt moved up to Clint’s chest, his brows furrowed as he worked. Clint could just barely see his heart slamming against his ribcage through the shadows casted by the billboard. Soft fingers brushed his chest as gauze was applied to the larger lacerations, and Clint only prayed Matt couldn’t hear his heart practically drumming through the silent apartment.

“Breathe.”

Clint let out a shaky breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, wondering when he’d suddenly stopped breathing to begin with. Things were made when Matt moved up to his face, tending to the gashes there, all the while being only inches from Clint’s face. He could see with clarity the stubble lining Matt’s jaw, the slight roughness from his chapped lips, the hint of lighter browns and some greens in his dark, unseeing eyes.

In one quick movement, Clint closed the gap.

Matt’s lips were softer than expected, and though it only lasted a second or two, the kiss was sweeter than anything Clint ever had the pleasure of tasting. A goofy sort of grin passed over Clint’s face, before fading just as quickly as it had come around. Matt was stoic, almost as if he hadn’t found pleasure in the ordeal at all.

“You tore open your stitches.”

So he sat patiently as Matt stitched him back up, before digging up a spare pillow and blanket for Clint, as well as a pair of sweatpants and a tee shirt. He turned and retreated to a room with a sliding door, before cutting himself off from the world for the night.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm shook as hell I finished season three of Daredevil + I just...??? I'm shook as hell at Sister Maggie's confession + the cinematography was beautiful + the plot was great + just. wow. what a ride.


	10. Lines on a Map

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have written all of the chapters. All I have to do is post them. I feel so powerful.

When Clint woke, Matt was nowhere to be found. The eeriness of the warehouse-like flat was irritating, so Clint began to do what he did best-- gather intel. Unfortunately, there wasn’t much to gather. Beer bottles and some sort of fast food chain’s sauce sat in the fridge, reminding Clint of his own pitiful lack of food back at his apartment. Pages with raised Braille were scattered both on the coffee table and the bar in the kitchen area. No photographs in sight. A single coat hanging on a peg in the small hallway entrance. Clint even glanced in the open door to Matt’s room. Stark white sheets and a comforter that were thoroughly wrinkled, and a phone charger next to an empty nightstand. There wasn’t much to go off of.

It had been over an hour and Murdock still hadn’t returned. To be fair, it was a Sunday morning, and with the influx of traffic to Nelson and Murdock, Matt was more than likely at work.

 

This was not the case.

 

On the other side of town, Matthew Murdock was sitting in a confessional, gripping his cane as if it were a lifeline. Thoughts swirled in his mind, but no words came out. It took a few moments of silence and clearance of his mind for a question to finally fall from his lips.

“How do I not feel guilty of taking someone's love when I don’t deserve it?”

There was a beat of silence, before Father Lantom spoke.

“Guilt can be a good thing. It’s the soul’s call to action. Loving someone at their darkest is a light that will guide you through to prosperous times. How, then, does this make you unworthy of such love if it will bring you happiness?”

The small booth suddenly became sweltering. The velvet drapes cutting off the flow of oxygen to Matt’s brain. The darkness became unbearable. It was like he was being suffocated by his own realisation. A few breaths were struggled to be taken in a self-soothing manner, but they were taken all the same.

“I-I think I understand, Father.” Matt eventually responded, fighting to keep his calamity intact.

Ducking out of the confessional, he stumbled over to the nearest bench outside of the church and attempted to fight back the unnerving wave of inexplicable emotions. Of all the things in the world, Matt Murdock never thought he’d been fighting against himself, much less his feelings. This was almost worse than the Yakuza or the Hand-- at least he’d more or less known what he’d been going up against. This… this was entirely foreign. He didn’t know when to fight or surrender.

One step at a time. That’s how he’d figure things out.

That first step was taken as he began the trek back to his apartment, with the hope that Clint was still there.

 

The archer, however, had just left Matt’s apartment. He’d left a scrawled ‘Thanks!’ with a shitty smiley face on the kitchen counter, before griping at himself that _Matt can’t see, you absolute dingus_ , but ultimately leaving the note anyhow. He returned to his own apartment, the hole of rejection being filled slightly by the exhilarated Lucky, who managed to bounded over and almost cause Clint to fall on his ass. It took some time, but after settling back down into his home, Clint began to feel the hollowness gnawing at him again. It was amplified by the fact that he was still wearing Murdock’s clothes, making him smell of paper, hydrogen peroxide, and some sort of faint cinnamon incense or something. It made him sick. He carefully stripped, pulling on some of his own clothes, but the aroma of Matt still clung to his skin. Even after a shower, he could still faintly smell Matt on him. Great. It was as if the universe was against him, because upon turning on his old, outdated television, some shitty Hallmark rom-com with no-name actors was playing. Clint turned off the television, his ears ringing with the eerie silence of his apartment. The guys upstairs weren’t fucking each other senseless, the kids across the hall weren’t playing, and the local cryptid Jared wasn’t blaring his news station. Clint took out his hearing aids, turning the painful silence into a more bearable one.

  



	11. Alone + Afraid

It was finally done.

After months of back and forth with one hundred and seventeen countries and eventually the United Nations getting involved, the Sokovian Accords were amended and then ratified to every party’s liking.

So naturally, this meant drinks all around.

Upon wandering the Avengers Compound,Matt Murdock did not hear the voice of Clint Barton, but heard just about everyone else. There was Tony Stark, boisterous with an unsteady heartbeat that hiccupped every once in a while. Bruce Banner, Natasha Romanoff, and Wanda Maximoff had steady, sure heartbeats and polite small talk abundant between the three of them. Matt felt his brows furrow, realising that he was searching for something, but he wasn’t exactly sure what. After almost asking Captain Rogers, he then realised-- he was looking for Clint Barton.

It was ridiculous, really. Matt hadn’t seen the guy in months,and they weren’t even friends. In fact, he barely knew the guy. He knew that Clint drank his coffee black, straight out of the pot. He knew that Clint was a dog person, and had tried dog biscuits before. He knew that Clint was an expert marksman who worked with the Avengers and also did side jobs, but still stayed in a shitty apartment. He knew Clint had a sister named Laura, and his voice went gentle when he mentioned her kids, meaning that he had a soft spot for them.

He knew Clint was interested in him romantically.

And Matt felt a spark of a similar feeling.

Scared didn’t cut the true feeling--  _ terrified  _ was more the word. Matt hadn’t felt this way for someone in a long time. What was even worse was the fact that Clint understood the dangers of living this kind of lifestyle, and Matt couldn’t push him away with the excuse of protection. The thought of having someone to understand and sympathise with that’s emotionally available? Terrifying.

Everything became too much. Glasses clinking. Laughter was too loud. The popping of champagne was like that of a gunshot. Too many brushing hands and meaningless conversations. Too much clatter and chatter and cacophony. Matt Murdock found himself wandering. Up the stairs and out a door.

A cool breeze danced through the air, and past where Matt was now standing on the landing pad on the roof. It was a crisp night, and the wind was rather bitter, but it was of no bother to Matt, who was more thankful for the fresh air and quiet hideaway. A few deep breaths and a wave of calamity later, Matt found himself thinking about Father Lantom’s words from the last time he’d gone to the confessional. The thought of guilt being a call to action echoed in his mind, and he supposed it was true-- he’d never been so set on making amends than he was now.   
“Foggy. Foggy. Foggy…” The automated voice of his phone interrupted his thoughts, and he thought about taking the call, but declined it in the end. He couldn’t be bothered with the final papers that he had to sign to end Nelson and Murdock. Not now. He had to think things over without interruption. He had to clear his mind.

It was easier said than done. A rather prominent heartbeat was nearby, and Matt almost left the rooftop, but reconsidered. The heartbeat was strong and sure, and so painstakingly  _ normal _ . Matt almost approached in hopes of it being Clint, but the heartbeat suddenly faltered, and Matt cursed himself for almost believing that Clint was here. He was likely on some sort of mission, having long since compartmentalised Matt into the ‘forgotten’ pile at the back of his mind. He tried to brush away the thought, but it still made an impact of making him feel like shit.

Matt found himself wandering the corridors of the Avengers Compound, actively avoiding the party, finding little use for himself. Wallowing in self-pity was a forte of his, but he attempted to believe otherwise, even sending up a mental prayer.

_ Good Lord above, guide me through this time of confusion in my life. I may be the Devil, but you seem to be my advocate. _

If God heard, he didn’t seem to care.

Or maybe it was just Matt Murdock being a dumbass and missing the signs.

Either way, Matt didn’t see Clint for another two months.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay okay this is my third update today I know it's just... I finished this whole work + the last chapter is just something I wanna get to so bad because it wraps things up with a neat lil bow + I'm an impatient bitch.


	12. So There's a Next Time

It had been a year and seven months since Clint had first fallen on top of Matt Murdock, not that he was counting or anything. It had been about five months since Clint had last seen Murdock, having shown up on his doorstep nothing short of a bloody mess. He’d also kissed Matt that night, which was nothing short of an embarrassing mishap on his end.

So it came as a surprise to find Matt Murdock knocking on his door. At eleven thirty at night, no less.

“Do you have OxiClean?” Were the first words out of his bloodstained lips, and Clint furrowed his brows, making the mistake to look down and see the maroon button down underneath his suit.

“Shit! Uh… come in.” Clint practically dragged Matt inside and made a grab for his medical kit, before meeting Matt where he’d sat himself on the couch.

Matt hed his blazer and unbuttoned his shirt with shaky, bruised hands, revealing a nasty stab wound in his chest that was bleeding profusely.

“So I’m guessing you didn’t buy your shirt that colour?” Clint attempted, and Matt let out a weak laugh. Clint could only bring himself to smile meekly, trying to focus on cleaning Matt’s wounds. It was going to be difficult, so Clint gathered his things.

“Strip and meet me in the bathroom.”

A warm sponge bath with mild soap was had, Matt sitting in his underwear in rose red water. The plug was pulled, and Matt was dried off and given a fresh pair of clothes-- the sweatpants and tee shirt he’d lent Clint when he’d been over at Matt’s apartment the last time they’d stitched each other up. They then returned to the couch, where Clint knelt to stitch the stab wound, his hands caked in crusty blood. Matt held his shirt in his hands, twisting it around, as if itching to pull it on. It was a bit chilly in the apartment, but Matt needed more tending to than the thermostat, so Clint continued working on his patient. He was pulling out a cotton pad from his first aid kit, when Matt finally spoke.

“Thank you.” Came the soft murmur that was so close to Clint’s ear that it sent shivers down his spine. Knowing Murdock, he more than likely noticed.

“Don’t sweat it.” Clint placed the cotton pad over the wound, before wrapping gauze around Matt’s chest. “Seriously. I’ll always be here to patch you up. Whenever you drop in. I-If you drop in, of course. You don’t have to, but you’re always welcome to if you’d like t--”

A hand gently splayed across his chest, and warm pair of lips pressed against Clint’s cheek. He could feel his heart leap into overdrive beneath Matt’s hand, and Clint had the suspicion that, if Matt could see, he’d notice the flushed cheeks and distant expression upon Clint’s face. Thankfully, Matt couldn’t see.

“I-I might just take you up on that offer.” Came the soft response, and a smile pulled at Clint’s lips, threatening to grow into an all-out grin.

“Yeah, I-I’d… like that.”

Clint was absolutely smitten. The goddamn idiot fell asleep with a goofy grin on his face.

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my dorks.


	13. More Than Just a Lawyer

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> good morning here's a second chapter. I've been up since one in the morning + it's currently ten. I'm running on the fear that if I close my eyes I'll have another panic attack, as well as hella caffeine. enjoy.

Tony Stark was the first person to find out about Barton and Murdock. Romanoff didn’t count, and Stark had no idea that Coulson was alive so he didn’t count either.

Matt Murdock had been invited to the Avengers Compound on the basis of lawsuits attempted at being held against various members of the Avengers. Murdock was to discuss and detail how he was going to protect the heroes with the power of the law.

The elevator slid open, revealing Murdock with his face tilted toward Barton’s. The archer leaned away, and a small smile graced the lawyer’s lips before fading just as quickly. He exited the elevator, his stick tapping against the marble floor as he approached Tony.

“Mister Stark.” Murdock shook his hand, a small twitch of his lips indicating the idea of a smile.

“Mister Murdock. Come to work your trade?”

“I intend to, sir.”

There was a sit down in the conference room with Pepper and Rhodey, as well as a few of the other members of the Avengers. The problems were hashed out and taken from every angle, before a definite decision was made on damage control. Tony offered just paying everyone off, to which both Pep and Rhodey rolled their eyes. Murdock made the point that buying silence wouldn’t work in the long run, it would just make more people attempt to milk him of his wealth. Eventually, Stark begrudgingly agreed after much back-and-forth. Murdock finished off with potential dates for scheduling, before giving a half-hearted smile and collecting his files, quietly leaving the room.

Stark had assumed Murdock had left, having not seen him for the next half hour, but was proven wrong when he happened to glance into the sparring room after seeing the door was open.

Barton and Murdock circled each other slowly, bouncing on their toes, fists raised. Barton swung, missing Murdock, who had ducked and immediately retaliated by landing a blow to his stomach. Tony furrowed his brows, glancing over to see Murdock’s walking stick and dark lensed glasses sitting on one of the benches. When he looked back, Murdock’s head was cocked toward him, but Barton clapped him on the back, a smile stretching across his face.

“Maybe one day you’ll pound me like that in--”

Whatever Barton’s cheeky comment was going to be was cut off by Murdock grabbing his arm and twisting it behind his back. Barton somehow twisted out of the lawyer’s grip, pulling him into a chokehold. After a moment, he let go, and Murdock let out a soft laugh, before Barton kissed his cheek. 

Tony’s brows furrowed, wondering how the hell Murdock was able to fight, seeing as he was visually disabled. He wondered why the guy knew how to fight, but that wasn’t exactly at the forefront of his mind, either. It all became clear to him: the way Barton’s face would twitch when they mentioned Murdock, the way he’d push off the intrusional comments from Tony about needing a girlfriend, and the reason why he never explained his sporadic disappearances when his phone would ring at all hours of the night.

“I can hear you out there, Mister Stark.”

Tony blinked, before pushing open the door. Murdock was facing him, his dark eyes blank as he raised his brows.

“I’ll be off. Mister Barton, thank you for your time.”

Murdock began collecting his things, but before he could walk out the door, Tony lashed out. The lawyer grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back and kicked in his leg, causing the billionaire to kneel on the floor.

“You’re not just a lawyer, are you, Mister Murdock?”

The lawyer let go of him and took a step back, straightening his blazer and tie. He pushed his glasses up his nose, just as Barton pulled Murdock close, kissing his forehead gently.

“See ya later, Matty.”

The door swung shut as Tony Stark pulled himself up off the floor with a soft grunt. He gave Barton a scrutinising look, raising a single brow in a questioning manner.

“You and Murdock?”

“I’m the eyes and he’s the ears.” Barton shrugged.

“How long?”

“Uh… six months? Seven?”

“How did…” Tony gestured generally to Barton and the door where Murdock had exited.

“Heh, I… I fell on top of him in a dumpster.” Barton rubbed his neck in an embarrassed manner, and upon no further questions being asked of him by Stark, left the sparring room.

Tony Stark could only shake his head. Of course Barton would meet a potential significant other in a dumpster.

But wait. Why was Murdock in the dumpster?

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I might post the final chapter either today or tomorrow. as much as I'd like y'all to wait in suspense, it might be posted today because I'm just as anxious to get it on here.


	14. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 03/24/19 NOTE: hey guys, this is just a huge thank you for everyone who's read this, + a note that I made a Spotify playlist for this work! The songs listed are ones that I listened to when writing this piece/songs that remind me of my two favourite dumbasses.  
> https://open.spotify.com/playlist/651H5SeesKa4dYp2EKX9JE  
> also, I wrote a sequel for this work, so be sure to check that out + yell at me some more.  
> again, thank you all so much for reading + commenting!  
> xoxo,  
> noahcomemidnight

Clint Barton couldn’t be happier.

Yeah, Matt would get beat to shit and bleed on the carpet. And sure, sleepless nights were common. But hey, Matt had moved from the couch into Clint’s bed, so that was a plus.

Tonight had been the year mark since they’d become a “thing”, since the supportive kisses and muttered words of romantic sorts. A year of having each other’s backs when they needed help. A year of being thrown into dumpsters, trailing criminal gangs and dismantling them. A year of routine of controlled chaos. A few months of worrying when Matt had disappeared when the building collapsed on top of him. A few tough months of Matt having to stay away to protect Clint, but he came back in the end and reunited with some of his friends to open their law firm again. Overall, bittersweet, but a year of trials and tribulations that they’d gotten through.

Matt came home through the bedroom window, limping and clutching his side. Clint patched him up accordingly, giving him painkillers and a glass of water. The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was stripped down to Matt Murdock. Sweatpants were pulled on, and a very exhausted vigilante slid into bed, letting out a long sigh that held the compressed stress of his fourteen hour day. Clint combed through Matt’s dark hair with his fingers, looking at his face that was cast with shadows and the yellowing colour of the streetlamp outside. Lucky was nestled at their feet, having long since fallen asleep, but would soon be waking as the sun began to make its reappearance.

“Who was it?”

“Last few of Fisk’s loose ends that he’d employed. Ran the monetary laundering through the now nonexistent Red Lion Bank.” Matt turned toward Clint, suppressing groans of pain as he moved. “What were you up to while I was gone?”

“Catching up on Supernanny and--”

Matt let out a snort, and Clint gasped in mock offense.

“Coulson said it was good, so I’m trying to grasp where his cultural idiocy comes from. It’s not as great as he made it out to be.”

Matt shook his head, a smile gracing his face that made Clint’s heart race. To be fair, though, his heart always skipped a few beats or ten when Matt smiled.

“So you’re watching trashy reality television.”

“Well, Steve also tried to call me in again.” Clint shrugged, and Matt sighed.

“Clint, if Rogers is calling you in, something important must be going on. You should probably help.”

“Yeah, well, Laura gets worried, and whether you admit it or not, I know you worry as well. They’ll be fine without me, though. I’m just your Average Joe with a bow and arrows.”

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re one of the most capable people on the team.”

Clint let out a soft, suppressed laugh, and Matt’s hands touched his face gently. There was something beautiful about the way that Matt’s hands delicately found each feature of his face, as if he was trying to see without actually seeing. Clint felt a smile pull at his lips as Matt’s calloused fingers touched them, and he curled his fingers into his significant other’s. He even leaned in for a soft kiss, which Matt returned. Neither of them ever took things further, and neither seemed to want to. Things were perfect just the way they were.

They spent their morning in quiet, making coffee, grabbing breakfast, reading the paper. Neither of the two had any obligations for the day, one of the rarities of working the jobs that they had.

Matt wandered around in sweatpants on his second cup of coffee. He was still using the ‘Daddy’ mug, and Clint was still drinking coffee out of the pot. Clint described some trashy Hallmark rom-com to Matt when they switched on the television. They spent most of the day in bed relaxing, as if in their own little bubble. Lazy kisses pressed to jaws, hands, and shoulders were abundant. Soft mutterings of nothing and everything were exchanged. Curled up and comfortable was the way things were. It was the kind of day that they’d desperately needed without even realising it. And it was wonderful.

Until Matt suddenly bolted upright without warning.

Clint sat up as well, watching as Matt cocked his head, before tilting it sporadically, in an almost wild manner. Matt was taking in something that Clint could only wonder.

“Something’s wrong.”

Matt slid out of bed and limped as fast as he could out of the bedroom, and Clint followed a few paces behind. Matt stood in the kitchen, pulling back the curtain as if he was looking out the window. For a long while, nothing was said. Matt kept tilting his head in all sorts of directions, listening closely to something. He suddenly turned toward Clint, and the archer knew whatever was going on was worse than he’d previously thought. Matt’s face mirrored worry, and his face had gone paler than his usual fair skin tone.

“They’re-- there’s something wrong with the city.”

Before Clint could even respond, Matt was in his own world again. The archer could only watch as his significant other’s twitchy movements worsened. Matt’s breathing became ragged as he stumbled forward to stabilise himself on the bar counter, but missed. The crashing of things off the side of the bar caused Clint to flinch slightly, and he leapt forward to help. Matt’s breathing was erratic, and Clint looked over to see him on the verge of losing his composure completely.

And he could see why. Matt’s arm was crumbling and fading into some sort of grey ash.

“Clint, I--”

Matt stumbled into Clint’s arms, and the archer held him close. Burning tears and quick, hot breaths seared Clint’s shoulder and neck. Clint clutched on to Matt for dear life, confusion and hysteria beginning to flood over the archer. Sniffling was a shared between the two, but it soon faded, as Clint ended up rocking only himself back and forth.

All that was left of Matthew Murdock was the tears shed for him and the dust in Clint’s arms.

 

 


End file.
